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Till. BAPTIST BANNER. BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO. VOL. IV. ■ ■ DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE, Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at 5 subscription price of four dollars per year. JAMniS N. ELLS & CO., Proprietors. ‘ GOLDEN _M_EMORIES~ O, there are golden memories Around my heart to night, And soft angelic voices That inake 4 each moment bright; And cherished forms come to me Up the dim aisles of yore, And lov ng hands extended . As they were wont before. Bright eyesjn mine are gazing With many a-love-told beam, And precious thoughts are casting O’er life some sunny gleam; Ah 1 these are golden moments, And treasured up by me— . By far, by far the dearest In time’s tumultuous sea. But where are the cherish’d jewels That graced each childish hour, And threw o’er life strange beauty, Like some sweet fragrant flower ? Ah 1 that’s the saddest question, My heart, to answer thee— For time hath dealt not lightly With those so dear to me. Yon heaven hath garnered treasures Within her storehouse wide; And though earth now looks dreary, ‘ There’s light at eventide.’ Then hush, faint heart, these sighings, And daily strive that thou May’st one day bask in glory, And deck thy Saviour’s brow. E. JL PRETTY STORY. THE sun is always shining irt the sky of our lives, aud his bright beams coming down to gladden the earth. But into how few hearts do they find their way ? The earth upon which our minds dwell, like the material earth, has its dense forests, its i diep valleys, its dark cavesand caverns, i into which the synlight rarely, ifever comes. It would seem as if many loved these gloomy shades, and hid themselves, of choice, away from the bright and beautiful sunshine.— They carry shadows in their hearts and shadows on their faces. When they come i into your presence it. seems as it the air was suddenly darkened by a passing cloud. Mr. Hickman was one of those men who walk, for the most part, in dark valleys, or ait in dreary caverns. Hardly, ifever, on returning home did he bring light into his dwelling. If there was merry laughter among the children on his entrance, their voices were hushed ; if love’s light beamed from the countenance of his wife as she eported with her little ones, it faded away, giving p ace to n sober, thoughtful, halt troubled look. He always came home bringing a shadow with him, and sat, for the most part, in the shadow, through all the cheerless evenings. Why was this! Was there a great trouble in the heart of Mr. Hickman I . H-d he passed through some depressing misfor tune? No. It was as well with him as ■with most people—better than with a very large number. His business was prosper ous and every year he added many thous ands “f dollars to his rapidly accumulating fortune. But he was not a man possessing an orderly adjusted mind—was easily dis turbed by trifles, and annoyed by incidents that should not have affected him any more than the buzzing of a fly. But the real cause lay deeper and more hidden, ground ed in an inordinate selfishness, that robbed him of the pleasure which might have at tended success, through envy of others’ good fortune. He was j< alous of his compeers in business, and always experienced a disa greeable sensation when he heard them spoken of as successful. No wonder that sunlight could not find its way into his heart. Envy and ill-will, burn in what heart they may, always send up a black smoke that obscures the heavens. The sun is there, shining as brightly as ever, but his ravs cannot penetrate the cloud of passion. No dav passed in which something did not occur to disturb or cloud the mind of Mr. Hickman; and so, evening after evening, he came home, bringing with him shadow instead of sunlight. Oh, what a desecration of home was this !—home, w here the heart’s sunlight should ever dwell, aud a heart warmth pervade all the sweet atmosphere. Nothing of external go-'d was denied by Mr. Hukman to his family. They had all of happiness that money could buy. Yet how far Com happiness were his wife and children 1 They were drooping tor the sun shine of smiles, and pleasant words, aad jovuus laughter. But these came uot truss Mr. Hickman. Ue sat among them grins and gloomy, for the most part, like some sombre heithen divinity—half dreaded, half Pr jSr. Hickman was not so stolid but he saw iu this the existence of • wresf He A SmtSSSOOT jLSD S’AMXiX' SBWSS’AS'ffia. loved his wife and children, desired their good, and was ready to make almost any sacrifice for them that he knew how to make. Even as he sat moodily in his room, con scious that his presence rested like night mare on the spirits of his wife and children, he would say to himself: “ Thisi is not right. I should bring home pleasan?words and cheerful smiles.” Yet almost as he said this would his thought go back to some inc'dent of the day, which mere selfishness gave pr*weir to disturb his feelings, and he would go off again into a brooding state of mind, out of w hich he had not resolution enough to lift himself. Often it happened that his children sought, in the outgushing gladness of their hearts, to break the spell that was on him, but almost alwavs he had repulsed them—sometimes coldly, some times fretfully, and sometimes in sudden anger —so that, at last, they rarely came near or spoke to him, as he sat through his silent evenings. “ Wrong, all wrong,” Mr. Hickman often said to himself, as the shadow fell darker on his home. But a knowledge of the evil did not bring a knowledge of the cure, or, rather, that self-conquest which must pre cede a cure. He must let thesunshine into his own heart ere he could pour forth its rays upon other hearts. He must come our. of the dense forests and gloomy vales and dusky caverns, into the clear sunshine. But how was he to come out? —who was to lead him forth? One day as Mr. Hickman sat in his counting-room, conversing with a gentle man, a lad came in from the store to ask him some questions about business. Mr. Hickman replied in a curt way, and the lad went out. “ What is that boy’s name?” asked the gentleman. “ Frank Edwards,” was replied. “ 1 thought so. He’s a fine boy. How long has he been with you?” “ About three months.” “ Does he give satisfaction ?” “ Yes.” “ I’m pleaded to hear it. His mother lives in our neighborhood, and my wife has taken considerable interest in her. She is very : poor, and in feeble health. She maintains 1 herself by sewing, but that kind of exhaust ing toil is wasting her life rapidly. Frank ’ is her only child, and the only one to whom 1 she can look for any help. lam glad you * like him.” Nothing nwe was said on the subject but it did not pass from the mind of Mr. ! Hickman. Me had taken the lad a *few month* before on trial, and it was under- 1 stood that if he gave satisfaction he was to be put on wages after six months. ’ ‘‘The boy is faithful, intelligent and act- 1 ive,” said Mr. Hickman, speaking to him- | self. “Ifitis so with his mother, he must ! be put on wages now.” . ' “ Frank is an unusually bright boy,” said i Mr. Hickman. “He has an aptness foi ' business, is prompt and faithful. 1 can at- 1 ford to make his salary liberal. I’ll pay him six dollars now, mid if he goes on im proving as fast as he has done so far, it will not be lonsj before I can make it better for him.” Mr. Hickman arose, and, going to the counting room door, called the lad, who came in immediately. “How do you like our business, Frank?” asked Mr. Hickman, in a kind way. “Very well, sir,” replied he promptly. “Andyou would like to remain?” “Yes sir, if 1 give satisfaction.” “You have done very well so far,” re plied Mr. Hickman; “so well, that 1 have concluded to put you on wages now, instead of waiting until six months of trial have expired.” The boy started, and aqqick flush of sur-1 prise and pleasure went over his face. “I did not expect it, sir,” he said, grate b fully. “ You are Very good.” “ Your mother is pvt well, 1 hear,” said Mr. Hickman. Frank’s eyes glistened as he answered— “ No. sir; she’s been sick fora good while ; and lam so glad to be put on wages, for now 1 can help her.” “ Will you give all your wages to your mother? ” “Oh yes, indeed, sir—every cent, if it was ten dollars a week.” i This conclusion in the mind of Mr. Hick man was attended with a sense of pleasure. His heart had opened just a little, and two' or three sunbeams, with their light and warmth, had gone down into it. “ What shall 1 pay him for his services ?” said Mr. Hickman to himself, still dwelling od the subject. “There are plenty of lads to be obtained at acouple of dollars a week, fur the first one or two years; or even for , nothing, in consideration ofthe opportunity for learning a good business in a good house. But Frank's case is peculiar, and must be considered by itself. There is a I question of humanity involved. His mo-1 -| ther is poor and sick, and she has no hope I but him. Let me see: shall I make it i i threedullais a week? That will help them i' Ooasiderably. But, dear me ! three dollars ‘ will hardly pay for Frank’s eating. I must I do Something better than that. Say four dollars.” s Mr. Hickman dropped his head a little » and sat turning the matter over in his ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 1863. HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE. r | mind. He had once been a poor boy, with a mother in feeble health; and he remem . bered how hard it was to get along—how - many privations and hardships his mother - had to endure; and yet their income was , nearly double the amount he thought of ; giving Foank. Mr. Hickman had always i loved his mother, and this memory of her i softened his feelings still more toward the poor widow for whom an appeal had come to him so unexpectedly. “J see you’re a good boy, Frank,” said ’ Mr. Hickman, his hegrt stiji softening, “and your wages shall be six dollars.” The boy struck his hands together with sudden joy, exclaiming, “ Oh, mother will be so glad —so glad ! ” As he went back into the store, Mr. H. sat quietly in his chair, feeling hbppierthan he had been fur a long time. When the sun went down, and Frank came in to shut the windows of the counting-room, Mr. H. handed him a sealed envelope, saying: “ Take this to your mother. It contains ihirty-six dollars, as your wages, at three dollars a wtfek for twelve weeks, the time you have been in my store. Tell your mother that you have been a good, industri ous boy, anebhave earned the money.” Frank took the little package ; his feel ings were so much overcome by this addi tional good fortune that he could not speak his thanks. But his eyes told u hat was in his heart, and Mr. Hickman understood it. There are many ways to catch sunbeams, if we could only set traps for them. Nay, there is no occasion to go’o that trouble.— The air is full of sunbeams, and we have only to open the doors and windows of our hearts, and they will enter In countless mul titudes. But the doors and windows of most people’s hearts are shut and barred as the heart of Mr. Hickman. How are they to be opened ? Just as the doors and win dows of his heart were opened—by kind ness to others. When Mr. Hickman took his way home ward, his step was lighter and his feelings more buoyant - than they had been for a long , time. Though conscious of this, and of the sense of pleasure that was new to him, his , thought did not. go direcJy to the cause.— ( Not that he had.forgotten Frank and .sick mother, or the pale face that looked in to his when he told the ’ >y of his generous decision in his favor; all this was present to ; him, though he had not yet connected the | kind act and pleasant feelings in his con- , sciousness as cause and effect. There was no sound of pattering feet on 1 the stairs as Mr. Hickman came in. Time i was when his first step in the passage awoke | the echoes with laughing voices and the rain of eager footfalls. But that time had . passed long ago. The father came home | so often in a cold, repellant mood, that his ; children had ceased to be glad at his return, ( and no longer bounded to meet him. Sit- | ting on the stairs were a little boy and girl i ofthe ages of five and six years. As he ad vanced along the passage they neither stirred ; nor spoke, nor smiled, though their eyes . were fixed upon his face. Mr. Hickman stood still when he came to where they w ere sitting, and looked at them with a new feel , ing of tenderness in his heart. He held out ( a hand to each, and each laid a hand in his, i but with an air of doubt as to whether this ( condescension on the part of their father , were to be accepted as a token of love. A i moment he stood holding their hands, then stooping he threw an arm around each and i lifted them to his breast. , “ Hasn’t Edie a kiss for p%pa ? ” said Mr. ; H : ckman, with so much warmth in his voice 1 that the little girl now understood that all ( was earnest. “Yes, a hundred kisses!” answered she. flinging her arms around her father’s neck, and kissing him over and over again in childish fondness. At the head of the first landing opened ! the sitting room. Into this Mr. Hickman Jeanie with the two children in his arms, both lof them hugging and kissing him in a wild < happy way. “Bless me! what’s the meaning of all ; this?” exclaimed Mrs. Hickman, rising and coming forward, her face aglow with sudden pleasure at a sight a"»d sounds so new, yet all welcome to her heart. i “ These little rogues are hugging and ■ kissing the very breath away from me,” said Mr. Hickman, laughing and struggling with the children. “ He a>k me for one kiss,” cried Edie, “and I’m going to give him a hundred.” Mr. Hickman sat down with a child on each knee, and Mrs. Hickman came and stood by him, with a hand resting on his shoulder. * “Oh,you must kiss him, too,” said Edre, i looking up at her mother. Mrs. Hickman did not wait for a second! invitation. The old pleasant face of her jhusband was again before her, and h<r heart, was leaping with the old loving impulses. She bent down and laid a warm kiss on his I lips, which he felt as a sweet glow through' all his being. This was a« evening Inng to be remem bered in the household of Mr. Hickman.— He had ‘caught a sunbeam’ and brought it with him,-and a light and warmth were all around them. All were happy, and Mr. Hickman the happiest of them all, for he i had the sweet consciousness in his heart of having made another and humbler home very happy also. REASONS FOR SLEEPING IN CHURCH. There are certain persons w ho take offence at the very honorable practice of sleeping in the house of God : Ido not well under stand the reasons for which they condemn it, for I am always sure to get to sleep as soon as I hear my minister, or anybody • else, arguing against a custom so long es tablished, and so invariably sanctioned by all sensible folks, from Noan’s hearers down to the present wise generation ; yet, through you I wish to record rwy solemn protest against all reasons that have ever been urged, and show the world that many solid advantages result from sleeping in church. 1. No'one can presume to question that the body, fatigued by the labors of the w r eek, will be much mere refreshed by sleeping on a board, in a sitting posture, than by the same amount of sleep on a bed. It is a:well known fact, that feathers ener vate the System, when the oak or hickory strengthen and enliven it. Besides, one can’t sleep at home, on the Sabbath day, with a good conscience; for we are com manded “not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together as the manner of some is” —but there is no command, I believe,, against sleeping in the house of God—so that there, sleeping and a good conscience may be enjoyed together. It must of course be the most refreshing sleep in the world, and the best preparative for the duties of the week. 2. The example is admirable. Children and youth are very apt to be restless — sometimes fractious, even; but when they see their parents asleep, as they rarely do during the week, and as they commonly do on the Sabbath, they will soon learn how lovely is a quiet spirit—and how becoming it is to be still in so sacred a place. Some times they may hear a little snoring—or the cry, ‘ Umph !’ when we are waking up —but this is only an occasional interruption of the general stillness, and by no means destroys the happy influence of the ex ample. 3. Jt is calculated to animate the preacher —this may seem a little odd, but it is a fact, and “ facts are stubborn things.” It was but the other day that good Mr. Dronish got all on fire after two-thirds of his hear ers went to sleep, and one would have thought the heave.is and ea "th were coming together while he “ hit them off” so roundly, for not attending to his eloquence. 4. And this reminds me of another ad vantage 1 had well nigh forgot: cannot fail to improve pulpit oratory in general. Now yuu know, Sir, that we have but few orators to preach to us. and 1 shrewdly sus pect that 1 have hit upon the true reason of it. Most preachers manage to keep a con siderable portion of their audience awake, and this encourages them to continue their stupid way of preaching; whereas, if they would allow them to sleep, they would uot be afraid of them, for if they blundered and boggled, nobody would know it; of Course they would be as much possessed as the sophomore trying his oratorial pow ers before au assembly of cabbage stumps, or a Demosthenes himself talking tv the noisy waves of the sea. If my last com parison don’t seem apropos, I only beg you to remember that extremes meet, and of course it will follow, that a sleepy audience and a noisy audience are equally favorable tests of an orator’s powers, and have an equal influence in promoting his improve ment, 5. Some preachers arc heterodox in sen timent; and if all their hearers are asleep while they preach, their errors will do no hurt. No matter what a man says, if no person hears him. An orthodox preacher makes his hearers mad, more or less, if they are awake, for he so harrows up their i consciences, that ten to one if they d<<n’t' take an oath that they will never hear him , again; but if they are asleep, they avoid the dreadful <gn of anger, while he may keep his place, and do his Duty, and Jtave the reputation of an excellent man. a fine preacher. 6. What we don’t hear w'e shall not have to render an account for at the day of judg ment. The more ignorant we are, the few er stripes we shall receive. If we had heard no more than the heathen, O! how happy we might have been in the day.of account! but since it has been our misfortune to be born in a Christian land, we must make the best of it. 7. Some rigid notions about the decency i of sleeping, and yawning, and nodding and I starting in the h<>rse<if God, can oijv be done away by a steady adherence to the ■good <ild custom, and an invincible obstina cy to all innovations. It will be much to the honor of our sleeping ancestors, a< d 1 much to the credit of our churches, to resist | such notions “ri«/ormu ’ —for assure! v as | they prevail, they will send away all sleep ers from churah—which might, perhaps, leave half the seats eiapty. Sometimes it requires seven men to give one reason, but you see that I can render seven reasons for sleeping in church. 1 1 could add more if it were necessary —in- • TERMS— Four Dollars a-year. f deed 1 will add one that can be liable to 5 no objection from any quarter; it is this: God commaryjs us to rest on the Sabbath; to rest means to sleep. Such plain and fair syllogism, if carefully treasured up* cannot fail to prove a perpetual quis us to every troubled conscience, and an impenetrable shield against all those fiery darts which are ’ designed to disturb the quiet slumbers of my friends, and of your humffle servant, 1 Somnus. DEATH IN TIIE_HOUSEHOLD. Hath the dread visitor made one call— i or already more than one—at your dwell ing? He come yet again. Sorrowful thought! How the heart recoils from it! Is there no relief from the dark foreboding of that certain and awful fact? Yes, there is—thanks to Him who “hath brought life and immortality to light!” Look toa home, a meeting, a glorb us, beatific re-union of yourself and your loved ones, in the “man sions prepared ”on high. Strive to get yourself and yours—children, domestics and all—prepared, in the use of means and through grace divine, for a residence there. Were any of us as assund of case, wealth, long life, social enjoyment, in connection with removal to some other and more fa vored portion of our country, would we look to the change with dread? Why then . shrink and tremble and weep at the thought of a home in heaven—an estate in the para dise laud—a palace in the city of golden streets and pearly gates—a life in that clime where we shall breathe the very air of ex tatic existence—a seat in the society of all the purest, the loveliest, the most loviugof the universe? “ There is no death ; what seems so is transition— This life of mental breath, Is but a suburb of the lile elysian, Whose portals we call death.” But has the dark shadow of bereavement not crossed your threshold ? You have come, perhaps, to feel as if you and yours were immortal. The more tenible the hour that shall break the illusion. Prepare— prepare thyself for death’s coming ! Lock to your own soul, and to the souls of those whom God hath given you. Do you in struct them in their duties to Him who made them ? Do you point them to Him who died for them? Do* you show them the, way to heaven, walking therein before them ? Do jou pray for ana whh them? D<> they see and feel it to be your chief, your ever present concern, that they should follow Jesus, serve God, do good in their generation, and finally inherit life eternal? Happy—thrice happpv the family bound together in the bonds of faith and hopeaud love to Christ—all looking forward, upward —their faces all radiant with the glory beaming down from the illumined spires and turrets of the city celestial, to which ■hey are all travelling in each other’s com pany ; while they ofc times refresh them selves together, on the way, by pouring out their hearts in prayer, and in sweet songs of the laud whither they are going! Reader, is yours such a household ? Then the messenger, when he comes, will be one of God’s brightes , loveliest seraphs ! Death will only gather yuu and your luved ones together on “the shining shore,” to be more lovely, loving and happy than ever you could be in the sweetest of earthly homes. A Guilty Conscience.—The guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself, or, rather, it feels an irresistible im pulse to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was nut made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed upon by a torment which it does not acknowledge to Gud or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses, soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirit of which we read, it overcomes him, ana leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat and demand ing disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, and almost hears its work ings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his dis cretion— it breaks down his courage—it conquers his prudence. VV hen suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, aud the net of circumstances to entangle him the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be con fessed ; it will be confessed. There is no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession.— Webster. A i‘ atiier s Prayer.—The following is a touching incident : ■ A pious young man told a c ergyman that he had once disobeyed his father, on which the good man retired and shut the door. Curiosity led him to look through the key hole, and he saw his father on his knees at prayer. The boy listened, and heard his father praying tor him. This struck him to the heait; he went away and . i prayed for himself; his prayer and the pray er of the parent were heard; the young , man sought mercy through the Lamb of God, w ho taketh away the sin of the world, • and became a Christian indeed. NO. 32.